My brief stint in minor crime.
I spent the past week on vacation with my extended family (grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, etc.), which is part of a tradition that was established 12 years ago. Once every odd-numbered summer we rent a few houses on the beach and have a ball. There are many, many great stories to tell, but one stands out as my absolute favorite (mainly because I am one of the main characters).
In 1995 we rented a house that was within walking distance of a small amusement park. As you can predict, my cousins and I took frequent trips to the large arcade located within "Fantasy Island". My favorite game was the claw machine, and many have said that I had (and still do have) quite a talent for grabbing those prizes (foreshadow alert!). After a few days of spending vast amounts of quarters, my brother (the young iconoclast he is) discovered a fascinating new way to economize AND still get the prize.
Instead of using the metal claw attached to the machine, we opted to use the claw attached to our wrists. By opening up the prize chute halfway and reaching your hand through the small opening to the right, you can attain your plush treasures without even playing the game. This clever trick only worked on the floor claw machines (the ones which you look over, through the plexiglass, as you play). Since my brother was a few years old than me (and had a few more pounds on his arms), he recruited my cousin and I (who were only nine at the time) to be his loyal skinny-armed servants. And, of course, we took advantage of this newly learned manuever and amassed armfuls of stuffed animals. The main victim was the machine which contained the Looney Toons Babies.
The details regarding the exposing of our secret are a bit hazy, but my father did discover (or indirectly hear) the truth. He instantly informed us that we must return our stolen property. This included an embarrassing return to the amusement park and a confession of our arcade-sins. And from that last visit of the 1995 vacation came the purging of our souls and an end to all floor claw machines in that arcade. We were just a few minors committing minor crimes and misdemeanors.
-+-Film ratings (out of 10)-+-
March of the Penguins (Jacquet, 2005): 5
Broken Flowers (Jarmusch, 2005): 5
The Beat That My Heart Skipped (Audiard, 2005): 6
Slacker (Linklater, 1991): 6
The Machurian Candidate (Demme, 2004): 5
-+-Comments-+-
Broken Flowers biggest asset is, unsurprisingly, Bill Murray. His subtle way of conveying emotions and humor is taken full advantage of here. However, Jim Jarmusch might have been a bit too mesmerized by Mr. Murray and his dry and ambigious facial expressions. The camera often lingers on him, even when the moment doesn't offer anything particularly deep. The film plays out like a mood/character piece, shot contemplatively, without much to contemplate. Jarmusch has fun re-introducing Murray's "over-the-hill" Don Juan to his former flames, but, as I'm sure Jarmusch deliberately calculated, every encounter is unsatisfying. They all add up to a bit of philosophy (with a few amusing moments), and Jarmusch insists on repeating the protagonist's ultimate view on life many times (complete with numerous symbolic glances in the rearview mirror). I realize that the mystery (the first act is set up like some vibrant neo-noir) of his son is irrelevent, and that the films purpose is to preach "not to live in the past". Well, if the film offers us this bit of advice, I will gladly take it, since I don't believe that I will need to dwell on this forgettable film much. How disappointing.
It is odd seeing Slacker after viewing most of Linklater's subsequent films. His potential is palpable, but it never fully surfaces in this film. He tackles many themes that will soon be present in his future films. The whole film is basically an unpolished amalgam of Waking Life, Before Sunrise/Sunset and Dazed and Confused. Sure, the film is about the community of "slackers" in Austin and how they communicate in their everyday (and somewhat mundane) lives, but I wonder if Linklater ever stopped and realized that these loquacious Texan hipsters are only intermittently interesting. Luckily, he shows a hint of objectivity as a few characters discreetly call 'bullshit' on others.
Jonathan Demme's The Manchurian Candidate was overly convoluted (even though it was somewhat deceptively simple). It was a bit overstylized (something Demme was guilty of with his remake of Charade -- or what I could tell from the little of it that I saw). It was not too heavy-handed or manipulative, but once they started to try and load on the social commentary and declare the whole film a "satire" due to the previous film's status, I started to pick up on some preachiness. Luckily, the film ended before it could completely spin out of control. I felt as if Demme simply noticed a relevant theme in the original and decided to just give it a "go" without wondering if it would totally work.
In 1995 we rented a house that was within walking distance of a small amusement park. As you can predict, my cousins and I took frequent trips to the large arcade located within "Fantasy Island". My favorite game was the claw machine, and many have said that I had (and still do have) quite a talent for grabbing those prizes (foreshadow alert!). After a few days of spending vast amounts of quarters, my brother (the young iconoclast he is) discovered a fascinating new way to economize AND still get the prize.
Instead of using the metal claw attached to the machine, we opted to use the claw attached to our wrists. By opening up the prize chute halfway and reaching your hand through the small opening to the right, you can attain your plush treasures without even playing the game. This clever trick only worked on the floor claw machines (the ones which you look over, through the plexiglass, as you play). Since my brother was a few years old than me (and had a few more pounds on his arms), he recruited my cousin and I (who were only nine at the time) to be his loyal skinny-armed servants. And, of course, we took advantage of this newly learned manuever and amassed armfuls of stuffed animals. The main victim was the machine which contained the Looney Toons Babies.
The details regarding the exposing of our secret are a bit hazy, but my father did discover (or indirectly hear) the truth. He instantly informed us that we must return our stolen property. This included an embarrassing return to the amusement park and a confession of our arcade-sins. And from that last visit of the 1995 vacation came the purging of our souls and an end to all floor claw machines in that arcade. We were just a few minors committing minor crimes and misdemeanors.
-+-Film ratings (out of 10)-+-
March of the Penguins (Jacquet, 2005): 5
Broken Flowers (Jarmusch, 2005): 5
The Beat That My Heart Skipped (Audiard, 2005): 6
Slacker (Linklater, 1991): 6
The Machurian Candidate (Demme, 2004): 5
-+-Comments-+-
Broken Flowers biggest asset is, unsurprisingly, Bill Murray. His subtle way of conveying emotions and humor is taken full advantage of here. However, Jim Jarmusch might have been a bit too mesmerized by Mr. Murray and his dry and ambigious facial expressions. The camera often lingers on him, even when the moment doesn't offer anything particularly deep. The film plays out like a mood/character piece, shot contemplatively, without much to contemplate. Jarmusch has fun re-introducing Murray's "over-the-hill" Don Juan to his former flames, but, as I'm sure Jarmusch deliberately calculated, every encounter is unsatisfying. They all add up to a bit of philosophy (with a few amusing moments), and Jarmusch insists on repeating the protagonist's ultimate view on life many times (complete with numerous symbolic glances in the rearview mirror). I realize that the mystery (the first act is set up like some vibrant neo-noir) of his son is irrelevent, and that the films purpose is to preach "not to live in the past". Well, if the film offers us this bit of advice, I will gladly take it, since I don't believe that I will need to dwell on this forgettable film much. How disappointing.
It is odd seeing Slacker after viewing most of Linklater's subsequent films. His potential is palpable, but it never fully surfaces in this film. He tackles many themes that will soon be present in his future films. The whole film is basically an unpolished amalgam of Waking Life, Before Sunrise/Sunset and Dazed and Confused. Sure, the film is about the community of "slackers" in Austin and how they communicate in their everyday (and somewhat mundane) lives, but I wonder if Linklater ever stopped and realized that these loquacious Texan hipsters are only intermittently interesting. Luckily, he shows a hint of objectivity as a few characters discreetly call 'bullshit' on others.
Jonathan Demme's The Manchurian Candidate was overly convoluted (even though it was somewhat deceptively simple). It was a bit overstylized (something Demme was guilty of with his remake of Charade -- or what I could tell from the little of it that I saw). It was not too heavy-handed or manipulative, but once they started to try and load on the social commentary and declare the whole film a "satire" due to the previous film's status, I started to pick up on some preachiness. Luckily, the film ended before it could completely spin out of control. I felt as if Demme simply noticed a relevant theme in the original and decided to just give it a "go" without wondering if it would totally work.